Zig Instead of Zag
by Clementine Mack
Summary: Six years have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts in which sparked the dawn of Voldemort's regime. Bounded by obligation to serve the Dark Lord in the new dystopian world, Fenrir Greyback is the reluctant leader of the Snatchers. That is until one day his life is suddenly derailed and he is forced to make a choice.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 01. **

"What should we do with them, boss?" The scrawny wizard asked. Behind him stood a small handful of teenagers with tears in their eyes as they awaited their fate. Fenrir Greyback was surveying the abandoned warehouse loft, his back turned to the group. He kicked an empty beer bottle before turning to the gathered people with an expression of boredom. 

Fenrir had earned his reputation as one of the most gruesome werewolves know to Europe by brutal force over the years but found himself acting more as Voldemort's boogeyman for wayward wizarding children. As leader of the Snatchers he enjoyed the hunt for rounding up those on his "list" but the other responsibilities of the title were nothing more than a chore.

"Hmm," his gold eyes went to each face of the captured teenagers, the scent of their fear radiating off their bodies. He could sense their hearts began to race even harder as he took a step forward. The crunch of glass and rubbish beneath his boots was the only sound in the room.

"Are any of you muggleborn?" He asked. All five teenagers shook their head violently, Fenrir noticed one of the girls among them was visibly shaking in terror.

"Don't lie to me, kids," he warned in a low stern voice. He took a few steps further until he was towering over them like the grim reaper himself. In many ways he knew the resemblance was uncanny: dressed in black, just like the sickle-wielding figure of myth, Fenrir held their lives in his scarred hands. He sniffed the air, all for show of course because he didn't need to inhale hard to pick up the scents of the room. "I can smell a liar."

Which was a bluff.

He could discern when someone was afraid, when they were aroused or even when they were sick among other details but reading a scent was not quite the same as force-feeding someone veritasum. He couldn't read minds but he could read behaviors. And humans, he found, were predictable creatures. However none of that was common knowledge to many outside the pack, least of all a handful of terrified children.

The girl that had been whimpering in the background was now crying hard although desperately trying to hide her tears. She was, in fact, muggleborn he surmised. None of the other teenagers made eye contact with her. Her heart rate was elevated more than anyone else in her company, her gaze diverted. To the other Snatchers, all wizards, these sort of details went unnoticed-as they had countless other occasions.

"Very well," he eventually said after a long silent moment. "You will all run back to Hogwarts and should any of my men catch you again I promise I won't be so lenient."

The teenagers nodded, whispering promises to Fenrir before they were ushered out of the space by the other Snatchers. It was anyone's guess if the students would go back to Hogwarts but Fenrir did not care for their fate. If they were foolish enough to get caught again then that was their fault not his.

As for the muggleborn? For her sake it was especially wise to avoid Fenrir's path. His mercy was limited compared to Voldemort's that was quite simply non-existent. He doubted that the Dark Lord would have been particularly happy to hear his resident werewolf was letting muggleborns walk freely. Letting the muggleborn go had been a passing whim. However, Fenrir blamed his growing apathy for the disregard to the wizard's wishes and less to any growing conscience he might possess.

"What now Greyback?" One of the Snatchers asked.  
"Go back to headquarters and await my further instruction," the werewolf responded. The wizards all nodded in affirmative and suddenly disappeared as they Apparated away. Fenrir lingered in the abandoned space for little while, embracing the silence and solitude briefly before he too disappeared. His patrols weren't over for another hour but Fenrir needed a drink. Or two.

When he reappeared Fenrir was standing in the familiar streets of Nocturne Alley. It had remained unchanged over the years and that was part of why Fenrir liked it. There were very few things the werewolf enjoyed about the concrete jungle that was wizarding London but the seedy part of town always had a level of charm that endeared itself to him. For one thing no one batted an eyelash at the 6' 3'' werewolf as he walked through the streets and not a single witch or wizard looked up from their drink when he entered the Pewter Claw. 

He sat down at a stool towards the far end of the bar. There was a short exchange between the werewolf and the bartender followed by a tall glass of ale put in front of him. Fenrir didn't hesitate to take a long sip, the cold beverage was a welcome relief to his parched throat.

_Apparently playing the boogeyman to wayward students takes a lot out of a werewolf_, Fenrir thought to himself. Becoming the leader of the Snatchers, Voldemort's branch tasked with rounding up enemies of the regime, had originally been a temporary gig. A favor for the deranged wizard in exchange for more land for his pack. In the early days of Voldemort's victory there had been plenty for Fenrir to do and executing his enemies was no trouble to him. So much of his people's blood had been shed by the hands of the Order, returning the favor was the least he could do of what remained of them.

Most of those who had resisted Voldemort were dead but the scattered few that remained at large proved to be the source of immense ire for the Dark Lord.

_Your mission is done when you bring me her, Voldemort had hissed and Fenrir merely nodded, knowing that any further challenge to the Dark Lord's order might cost him more than he wished to give._ Even now, sitting in the bar Fenrir couldn't help but sense the wizard's foreboding presence in the background of his mind as he replayed the order over and over.

He took another swig from his pint.

_Bring me her_, the voice echoed again and again until Fenrir forced the thought from his head.

Hermione Granger, so named the brightest witch of her age according to many sources, was unsurprisingly a difficult adversary to catch. All traces of the witch disappeared after the Battle of Hogwarts and if not for the lack of body at the scene Fenrir might have thought she had died way back then. But the whispers of her existence were enough for Voldemort to continue seeking her, or rather, have Fenrir hunt for her.

To his credit, Fenrir had tried to track her down over the years. Whatever she had done to cover her tracks impressed even Fenrir. While her capture meant his own freedom the werewolf had to admit he was intrigued by her skills at staying hidden.

But there was another detail that interested him even more: her scent. Even now Fenrir recalled her distinct scent from the time they first crossed wolf within him stirred at the memory as both man and wolf grappled with the mystery of what was so captivating about her.

And there was of course the memory of Malfoy Manor incident. _That's when _it _had started. _

The dreams. The turmoil between the wolf within him and the man that, usually, considered himself in control between the two. Fenrir convinced himself that the sensation he felt was the void of an incomplete mission. He was tasked with finding Hermione Granger and once she was located the fracture between his wolf side and mortal mind would be mended.

_I will feel whole again, _he thought. 

After a few more pints Fenrir paid his tab and left. While he convinced himself he was sober enough to Apparate his senses felt dull and just to be safe he decided to walk home instead. It gave him an excuse to stretch his legs and let his mind wander. Curfew was in effect all through the city and the streets belonged to him.

The lantern posts dotted his path and their light cast an unnatural orange glow to the cobblestone sidewalks. He didn't much enjoy city life. It was loud, chaotic and the scents were overpowering and unnatural for his heightened sense of smell. But his duty to Voldemort kept him here even when he preferred roaming the forests. When he closed his eyes he envisioned ancient trees and a darkness of night that swallowed everything. He felt the dead leaves beneath his feet and the smell of wet earth. . .

Fenrir was deep in thought as he walked and didn't realize his feet had taken him in the opposite direction of his home until he scanned the streets and didn't recognize the signs. The werewolf muttered several colorful expletives, trying to figure out where he had wandered. Unbidden, a feeling of unease washed over him so powerful it nearly took him off his feet. Fenrir wanted to blame the alcohol but knew the truth as the wolf within him stirred to life. It's violent snarls rose like a cacophony in his mind and set his hair on end.

"Show me your identification, witch," came a muffled voice. Fenrir moved towards the voice completely on instinct, as though his his entire body was on autopilot. "I could have you thrown in jail for breaking curfew."

"Let me go!" The woman yelled, thrashing against the Snatcher's grasp.

He spun around an alley corner and saw a small woman pinned against a wall by a Snatcher. Fenrir recognized the Snatcher as one of his own men. It was a wizard named Carver, known more for his brute strength than anything else.

Carver gave the witch a violent shake that made her head slam against the wall. Fenrir became incensed at the sight. _Get ahold of yourself, _Fenrir commanded himself but the order was directed at his wolf side. The animal within him was going berserk and for the first time in the werewolf's very long life he actually feared himself. He didn't have control and it didn't make sense.

Fenrir was no stranger to violence so what had the wolf so riled escaped him. The werewolf took a tentative step down the alley.

"Eh who's that?" Carver turned at the presence of Fenrir. "Boss, is that you? I was just questionin' this witch but she don' want to-"

Before Carver could finish his sentence the witch struck Carver in the stomach with her knee. The Snatcher released her, cursing angirly. She dropped to the ground and Fenrir discerned she was looking for her wand. In an instant Carver had recovered and kicked the witch hard enough that she was thrown against the brick wall with a sickening crack. The Snatcher was just about to strike her again when Fenrir's vision went red.

There was a flash of blinding light and when it faded the Snatcher was no more than a crumpled heap. Dead. Fenrir had not registered the wand in his hand or even heard himself utter the words _Avada Kedavra _as he took Carver's life without hesitation. The perceived threat removed the wolf within Fenrir settled back into the backseat of his mind. Fenrir was still trying to grasp how the situation had unfolded that he nearly forgot about the woman on the ground.

Only she wasn't on the ground anymore. She was advancing towards him and as she stepped into the lantern light he recognized the witch instantly even before his nose picked up that familiar scent.

"It's you," were the only words he could express before she raised her wand and struck him down. Darkness clouded him instantly as Fenrir slipped into unconsciousness.

The werewolf awoke in an unfamiliar location. It was an industrial flat of some sort with the minimal amount of furniture necessary to sustain a person. The curtains were drawn over the large windows but his instincts told him it was morning. He blinked several times to regain his equilibrium and became quickly aware of the chains around his body and the stinging sensation they evoked as they brushed across his skin.

_Silver. _He gave a tug on the chains but they were firmly secured to the wall behind him. _Well isn't she a crafty one, _Fenrir remarked to himself. A dash of dark humor was the werewolf's long time companion. It had kept him alive in worse situations after all.

"I should have killed you," Hermione said flatly. Fenrir glanced up to see the vision of the witch entering from a nearby room. She was dressed in a dark blue blouse and jeans but had retired her leather jacket to a nearby chair.

Her first clenched but she made no motion to grab the wand holistered at her side. Dark eyes narrowed at the werewolf and there was something in her gaze that intrigued him even though he didn't need to read her mind to understand the malice behind her expression. It was clear she had changed since their last encounter so many years ago and in many more ways than one. There was a hardness to her features that had not been there before and gone were any remains of a youthful innocence. There were dark shadows under her eyes and her hair was cut short. The woman before him carried herself with measured caution and quiet lethal confidence.

It occurred to him that it was no wonder he had never been able to find her over the years. Fenrir had been searching for prey when really he was hunting another predator all along.

"Yes, you should have." Fenrir agreed. He shifted his head to focus his gaze on the peculiar witch, ignoring the pain it caused as the silver chains dug deeper into the flesh around his neck and arms. "So why then didn't you?"

That was a good question. Why hadn't Hermione killed him while she had the chance? She had taken down plenty of Death Eaters after all and he would have just been another name to cross off her mental list. And the fact didn't escape her that every moment the werewolf spent breathing meant a possibility he could break out of his chains and kill her.

But she could not ignore that he had rescued her first, even going so far as to kill one of his own men. The Snatcher that had cornered her had been stronger than her and had he been able to land another kick she doubted she would have lived through it. As it was she had finished off a bottle of dittany to heal her broken ribs.

Hermione herself had no reservations about killing her enemies, not after all they had stolen from her, but she did have her own sense of morality to uphold. It was the only thing Hermione believed kept her from being just as terrible as them. So for now Fenrir Greyback lived.

"Because you saved me and I want to know why," Hermione said. She sat on a chair just outside of his reach, her posture rigid even as she leaned in.

He shrugged but it was difficult to feign nonchalance as the sizzle of the silver burned into his skin. Years spent in the werewolf detainment centers had built him a high-tolerance for pain but even Fenrir had his limits and clenched his jaw to keep himself present.

"Tell me," she said and there was an undertone of a threat behind her words.

"Or what?"

"Or I kill you right now," she said matter-of-factly.

Fenrir laughed and Hermione jumped at the sudden sound of his booming voice. Her frown deepened in annoyance with herself for her reaction but also the fact that the werewolf was not cooperating.

Perhaps he sensed from Hermione's expression that her next move would not end in another idle threat because after a moment of silence to consider his words, Fenrir spoke.

"I don't think I could have let you die even if I wanted to, witch."

This was not the response Hermione could have anticipated and briefly Fenrir saw the surprise in her face before she quickly hid it behind a mask of neutral indifference.

"Explain," she said.

Fenrir knew that was going to be her next request. Even so he wished he could have offered a better answer than "the wolf made me do it" when it came to why he saved her. He wasn't sure why he had walked in the opposite direction of his home, why his heart had begun to race even before he saw her. However he was beginning to put the pieces together. Fenrir was cold and calculating but even he was surprised by his actions. Killing Carter had never crossed his mind but something primal in him had responded to Hermione's danger.

_Just like before... _

"They say you don't get a choice who you imprint on"_, _he said quietly, almost to himself, as he slowly realized what had happened. He couldn't mask his own disbelief. Fenrir's eyes went to the scar on Hermione's throat. It was faintly visible, a silver line where Bellatrix's dagger had left it's lasting mark years ago. An expression of remorse shadowed his face at the sight of it. Hermione did not understand his expression nor his words and she wondered if the werewolf had gone mad.

"I ignored my instincts back then but I don't think I can do that again," Fenrir said, leaving off the last part of his sentence _I don't think the wolf will let me._ With a sigh he said: "I will do my best to explain." 


	2. Chapter 2

**[Author's Note ] I took some creative liberties with what happened in DH canon. Thank you for your patience kind readers. I have not written anything in nearly 8 months but I have read every review and it rekindled my inspiration.**

"More bloody rain," the Snatcher groaned. "We've been out here day in and day out for over a week. What do they think we are going to find?"

"Rumor has it there are a few more Undesirables running about."  
"After the last sorry lot we captured? Doubt it."  
"Heard it was Harry Potter himself."

"Bollocks."  
"It's true, don't believe me you can ask Sammy."

"What does Sammy even know? The git is-"

"If the three of you don't shut the fuck up I swear I will rip your thoats out with my bare hands," Fenrir said with a snarl. At once all three of the Snatchers marching behind him went silent, eyes widened in fear. Fenrir would have been lying if he didn't relish the silence bought with the threat. His wizarding entourage were downright insufferable most days but on that rainy afternoon they were particularly grating. He was trying to focus on the direction the Taboo had been triggered. Someone, whether it was an Order member or a couple of Hogwarts students playing hookie, had invoked the curse by saying Lord Voldemort's name. He wasn't sure if it was the obnoxious company of the Snatchers or the fact that this was the third Taboo to be triggered in a week that made him annoyed.

However Fenrir knew it didn't help that the month was edging closer to the night of the full moon. His skin prickled with the subtle sting of the impending changes as though the very cells of his body were preparing for what was to happen soon enough.

While the wizards trudging behind him were sure not voice any further complaints about their patrol, Fenrir could feel the air change as the rain shifted from slow drops to a pelting storm. Fenrir didn't mind. If anything it made him feel aliveand abated the worries that occupied his thoughts.

The Order had been on the move since the spring, mounting their own attacks. Of course it had not been the wealthy wizarding aristocrats in Voldemort's higher circle that had suffered. The Order had gone after small factions of Fenrir's pack, setting on fire their camps before disappearing into the night. While thankfully the casualties had been low the destruction of what little his people possessed was enough to draw Fenrir's fiery ire.

However deep down a part of Fenrir wondered if Voldemort had not simply orchestrated the attacks to look as though it had been the Order. After all the werewolf was sure the Death Eater's leader sensed Fenrir's budding reservations in his people's involvement with the war efforts.

_What better way to reignite loyalties than continuing to ensure a common enemy, _Fenrir thought. He tried to tell himself that such a theory was unsubstantiated and yet the doubt still lingered. In choosing a side Fenrir knew he had only chosen the lesser of two evils. The Order. The Death Eaters. Neither one was much better in regards to treating werewolves. He had simply hedged his bets on the man who promised him and his pack their rightful place in the world. Only time would tell if he had made the best choice.

As the rain subsided, Fenrir stopped in his tracks. The other Snatchers did the same, looking around carefully to see what might have caught his attention. A scent had jarred Fenrir from his thoughts. It was faint at first but more distinct as a breeze carried it through the forest trees. The wolf within him stirred. It too was interested, scratching at the veil of his perception.

He followed the scent and within minutes both Fenrir and his crew were standing on the brink of a small camp. He motioned to the Snatchers and they quickly moved to encircle the tent. Inside Fenrir could here the panicked whispers of it's occupants. 

"Come out with your hands up!" Fenrir bellowed. Both him and his Snatchers raised their wands to the tent. "We know you're in there!"

The Snatchers moved in and dragged the tent's occupants out. The three young adults tried to scramble away from them, Fenrir and his men pounced. The werewolf grabbed the young woman among the trio first, taking her firmly by the arm so sharply she was nearly taken off her feet.

The wolf within him suddenly became agitated and the rising emotion felt like a bolt of electricity to his human consciousness. The discomfort happened only for a brief second but it was enough time to distract him so that he hesitated when the young woman yelled out and tried to punch him in the face with her spare fist. Fenrir evaded the futile attack, growling back at her. He appreciated the feistiness but was nonetheless quick to show he had the control.

"Well what do we have here?" Fenrir said with a wolfish smile while forcing menace into his voice. Even the other Snatchers grew uncomfortable when Fenrir went into interrogation mode as though they too would be forced to reckon with the 6'3'' werewolf. 

The young woman along with her two companions were drawn before them. Fenrir peered into the faces of their captives. Even as they spouted their stories Fenrir could tell there was something deeply suspicious about their presence. But not only that…

The wolf within him was clawing for the surface of his mind. It was a rare instance but he did not feel at one with his feral impulses and it took immense willpower to maintain control. His thoughts were whirring with a fixation.

_The girl, the girl, THE GIRL. _

Indeed her scent was fascinating to him but not like the way he chased his prey in a hunt.

THE GIRL. Take her. Run. Take her. Run.

_Enough_, he ordered himself hoping to force back the rising impulses from his animalistic side. He inhaled and exhaled sharply for several seconds until he felt back in control of the moment but by now both the captured trio and the Snatchers were looking at him for what was to happen next.

He tried to regain control of himself, of the ferocious persona he needed to exemplify despite the scratchings of the wolf on his mind.

The two young men offered up their names, or made an attempt to offer fake names. A few swift punches to the face and the red-headed young man offered another name.

Vernon Dudley and Bardy Weasely.

_Bull shit, _Fenrir thought to himself. He didn't need to consult the list to know the two young men were lying. Terribly.

"Let's see if you are bit quicker at remembering your name than _Barny_. Who are you girly?" Fenrir asked quietly and his gold eyes levelled on the young woman with an unblinking stare. She met his gaze and while there was fear there was also fire. Fenrir would recall that moment for years to come as the time he should have zigged instead of zagged. He should have listened to the wolf within him. He should have protected her from what was to come next. But how could he have known?

"Penelope Clearwater," she said. Another Snatcher checked the list while Fenrir assessed the young woman in front of him. Fenrir guessed she was probably lying as well but at least she had more conviction than the other two.

_Maybe things would have been different, _he would later tell himself when he became the prisoner of Hermione Granger.

_But then again maybe things would have been the same. _

Just then another snatcher came out of the tent with a large sword in his hand.

"Very nice," Fenrir said as he took it. The sword was splendidly crafted. Unknown to most, many moons ago Fenrir had been the son of a blacksmith. He had spent his childhood admiring blades of various styles. But this one was unique. It's design was distinct. He raised the blade to the dimming light with appreciation. "Very nice indeed. It's goblin-made. Tell me where did you something like this?"

"It's my father's," the one named Vernon said. Fenrir rolled his eyes as he went on to say they had borrowed it to cut wood.

Just then one of the Snatchers brought forth a picture from the _Prophet. _Underneath it read the caption: Hermione Granger, the Mudblood who is known to be travelling with Harry Potter.

Fenrir examined the picture and suddenly he was crouched down in front of the young woman. His face was merely inches from her own and he could see the tears she forced back while meeting his gaze. "You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you."

The wolf within him was snarling and it felt deafening to his senses. It had to be the proximity of the full moon, the excitement of the hunt. But deep down he knew that something had disturbed his wolf side. But he had to force himself to regain control. He was the leader of the Snatchers and possibly in possession of three of Voldemort's biggest threats.

"It isn't! It isn't me!" Her desperation was enough of a confession.

The Snatchers whisked them away to Malfoy Manor. They would be Bellatrix's problem after that. If the disfigured member of the group was indeed actually Harry Potter perhaps Fenrir would get a kickback. A few galleons could go along way in rebuilding his pack's communities. But it wasn't really the two young men he cared much about but the mix of emotions the young woman invoked.

He told himself it was just lust.

Because lust was easy to compartmentalize, easy to label. Far easier to grapple with than the surging agitation from his baser instincts.

As he brought them before the dark witch, Fenrir snarled into the ear of the redheaded male. "Reckon she'll let me have a bit of the girl when she's finished with her? I'd say I'll get a bite or two, wouldn't you ginger?"

Fenrir enjoyed the anger he stoked in the wizard. It made him feel in control of the situation rather then face the mounting dread from his wolf side. The red headed man shot a chain of expletives at him as he was dragged away.

"What have you brought me, Greyback?" Bellatrix said.

"I have my suspicions about the three, caught them with the Taboo out in the woods. I figured it warranted your attention at the very least."

"Do you dare to assume what is worth my attention, _werewolf_?" She responded, hissing the word werewolf as though it were an insult.

Fenrir's eyes flashed with annoyance. He did not want to instigate a fight with Lord Voldemort's second lieutenant but he didn't revel in her silly power trips. She was unhinged at best. Talented in the Dark Arts but unpredictable. She was a natural to violence though and Fenrir assumed that was why Voldemort had taken a shine to her.

"If it's really Harry Potter we need-" Fenrir began to say and was suddenly struck by a bolt from Bellatrix's wand. The force sent him flying across the marble floor of the manor's open atrium. He got his feet, snarling. _A time will come and I will kill her without hesitation. _

"I will decide what needs to be done! Not you. Now run along. Go fetch me my nephew, I have a job for him," she turned to the young woman still being held by a Snatcher. "And I have a new friend to play with."

"She's mine when you're done," Fenrir said and the words came out before he could catch himself. Bellatrix's back was already turned as she waved him away vaguely over her shoulder. He knew she would make no promises. In fact, laying any claim on the young woman might have been an invitation for Bellatrix to do her worst.

Inside Fenrir felt in turmoil as the door shut behind Bellatrix and her prisoner. Although he was no stranger to the screams of victims the sound of the young woman's cries tore through him on a visceral level. The whole room started to grow dark along the edges as he breathed in sharply.

_What was going on? _

"Boss? You alright?" One of the Snatchers asked, stepping forward hesitantly to the werewolf.

"I'm fine," Fenrir snapped but he quickly left the atrium in an attempt to put as much distance from himself and the screams of Bellatrix's captive. His animal instincts had gone awry and taken hold of his thoughts. THE GIRL. THE GIRL. GET HER.

SAVE HER.

SAVE _HER. _

Fenrir tried to ignore the impulses, wondering if he had finally gone mad. But the harder he tried to push the thoughts away the closer they continued to dog his steps down the empty corridor.

Just then Draco Malfoy turned down the hallway in front of him. The wizard tried to double back to avoid crossing paths with the werewolf. _Smart man. _

"Get back here, Draco," the werewolf said between clenched teeth.

The fair-haired wizard turned to face him with defeat in his posture. The young man looked sickly, his pale skin revealing dark circles under his eyes. Harboring the Death Eater's most gruesome members had likely taken its toll on sheltered young man. Weakly Draco met his gaze. "Yes?"

"Your aunt asked for you in the great room," Fenrir said. The werewolf could see Draco struggle to maintain composure at the mention of his relative but even so Draco said nothing, merely nodded in acknowledgement.

Draco went to move past Fenrir but the werewolf caught him by the arm. His blue eyes opened wide in fear at the sudden gesture. Fenrir knew it shouldn't have mattered but the nagging feeling forced him to say something.

"Do whatever you can to keep the girl alive."

Draco nodded but was clearly confused by the message. Fenrir guessed that was just what Draco had tried to do when a very short while later all three of the captives had escaped. Bellatrix raged and Fenrir knew logically he should be upset that it really had been Harry Potter who had escaped.

However the truth was he only felt a weird relief that _she_ had gotten away.

He would spend the years to come wondering what about the witch had overridden his human control, both wanting to find Hermione Granger but also secretly hoping they never crossed paths again. Because what if … What if she was the one? Confronted with the question now he realized the truth he had tried to ignore back then. Hermione was his mate and he would do anything to keep her safe.

After Fenrir told Hermione about their fateful first meeting those years ago he watched her closely to gauge her reaction. She carried the tension of her disbelief in her jaw and neck, her brow furrowed in thoughtful anger. A bead of silence strung between them but it was clear by Hermione's expression her rage was building.

"See I seem to remember that day very differently," she said jumping from the chair to her feet suddenly. Hermione moved forward so that she was nearly nose to nose with Fenrir with her wand drawn at his throat. "I was brutally tortured and I lost a dear friend that day. But it's okay because you felt really bad about it all? Sod off."

Fenrir didn't flinch even as the silver chains on his neck and arms burned deeper into his body. The cursed metal was likely to leave lasting scars on the werewolf but that was to say if he lived long enough to witness them heal.

"I don't expect any mercy," Fenrir said, speaking slowly to keep his voice steady through the pain. "But you asked why I saved you and that is it. By destiny you're my mate. Our magic is linked. The wolf knew it then and now, face to face with you again, _I _know it to be true as well. Last night I sensed your danger and even before I knew why... I was drawn to protect you. If you will let me I will do whatever I can to keep you safe."

"I don't want to be your mate," Hermione spat, never taking the wand from his throat. "I'd much rather kill you."

"I believe you," he said calmly which only seemed to piss Hermione off further.

"I don't think you seem to realize how dire your circumstances are right now, Greyback."

"I'm chained up in silver and and an angry witch is pointing a wand at my face. I'd like to think I am fully aware of my _circumstances. _The only question now is what are you going to do?"

Hermione knew that as every moment passed her resolve was beginning to waiver. It would have been easier if she had simply killed him the moment she saw his face. His words changed nothing for her, Hermione insisted. Strange werewolf customs aside he was still a monster. Just because he claimed she was his mate did not mean Hermione wanted anything to do with him. And besides she couldn't be certain even that anything coming out of his mouth was true. He was a killer; Fenrir being a liar as well was not outside the realm of possibility. Hermione continued to rationalize the decision to kill him for several long minutes.

And yet in the end she couldn't do it. Hermione had hoped to see nothing but emptiness in Fenrir however instead she saw something vulnerable staring back at her. It made her uncomfortable.

She withdrew the wand, placing it back inside its holster. Fenrir's eyes never left her. Hermione knew he was waiting for her decision but she could not give him an answer.

"I need a drink," she announced and abruptly turned on the heel of her foot. And just like that the conversation was over.

Fenrir listened to her retreating footsteps and the slam of a door. He thought of calling out to the witch but reconsidered. What could he have said? The fact that she had decided against killing him for the moment was promising and perhaps there was little else he could have hoped for.

One thing that struck Fenrir was that despite the pain of the silver chains binding his limbs, he felt at peace. Even the wolf within him was calm as though for the first time in along while he was closer to feeling whole.

_I am where I need to be. _

Hermione's mind was buzzing as she shut the bedroom door. Ignoring the fact that she had a dangerous werewolf currently chained in her living room, Hermione reached for the bottle of firewhiskey on her nightstand and took a long swig. She normally reserved alcohol for nights she had trouble sleeping. Although if Hermione was honest with herself the nightmares were far too frequent. Regardless she figured her predicament called for an exception.

The liquid scorched a path down her throat and made her feel at once several degrees warmer. Hermione sat on the edge of her bed and set the bottle down. She closed her eyes in frustration, annoyed with the mess she was now in. Hermione couldn't bring herself to kill Fenrir. While she didn't believe in his ideas of destiny and mates, Hermione felt morally obligated to spare his life after he had saved her's.

_I can't kill him but I will Oblivate him, _Hermione decided. The idea held merit and the longer she mulled it over the more it felt like the best course of action. She could wipe his memories of the night before and be on her way.

"_...I was drawn to protect you. If you will let me I will do whatever I can to keep you safe," _he had said. His earnest expression had been disarming and a part of Hermione felt conflicted. She certainly did not owe him much of anything beyond returning the favor of not killing and yet his request piqued her interest.

_I don't need someone to protect me least of all him, _Hermione chided herself and tried to banish the intrusive thoughts. Allies were few and far between for the witch but she wagered she would have to be extremely desperate to let Fenrir Greyback, the Death Eater's Werewolf, be the one at her side.

_You are desperate though, _Hermione said to herself as she mentally went through the waning rolodex of allies she still had left. So many people had died in the Battle of Hogwarts and shortly after. Those who could had fled abroad. _Except me. _She could have left and probably should have long ago but Hermione knew she still had a mission to complete. Ron was dead. Harry was dead. It was up to her to finish what they had started. She would kill Voldemort one day and until that time came she would do what she could to help those he kept imprisoned. The Muggleborn witches and wizards he and his kind used like chattel.

Just then the small compact mirror she kept on her nightstand began to glow. It was warm in her hand as she opened the enchanted device. It had been of her design, a means of communicating with other Order members undetected by Voldemort's regime. Instead of Hermione's reflection she saw the concerned face of Charlie Weasley looking back at her. She couldn't help but notice how his expression reminded her of Ron. Beyond their matching red hair, the two brothers had shared little else in common. It was strange how even though she missed Ron the memory of him didn't hurt as much as it used to. Bitterly she wagered that grief was simply a luxury she couldn't afford while the war waged on.

"Hey Charlie," she greeted and couldn't mask the fatigue in her own voice.

"Hermione? Are you okay? I got worried when Cho said you didn't show up at the drop off point with the supplies," Charlie said.

"I'm okay but there was a complication," Hermione said.

"What kind of complication?"

"I got caught by a Snatcher. I nearly didn't make it out," she paused as she tried to muster the next few words. "I got out okay but only because Fenrir Greyback saved me."

"What did you say?"

She ignored his question, pressing on. "I knocked him out and he's currently chained up in the safe house."

"Hermione, why? Why didn't you kill him?" Charlie was clearly angry with her choice. She could not blame him as she herself wasn't too thrilled with it.

"I _was," _she said. "But he saved me and I feel like I owe him that much."

"You don't owe him anything," Charlie said sternly. "I don't need to remind you of the damage he has done to us. For Merlin's sake, to _Bill! _He probably only saved you to turn you into You-Know-Who personally!"

"I know, Charlie. I know but I just can't do it," Hermione didn't want to get into explaining the reason Fenrir had given her as to why he had rescued her. It was neither the time nor the place. "I am going to Obliviate him and move along. Don't try to argue with me on this one, I've made up my mind."

"Fine," Charlie said sharply, it was clear he wasn't happy with her choice. "Deal with the werewolf however you see fit. We need to talk about the plan to move the Muggleborns anyways. Were you able to get the International Portkey set up?"

Hermione looked over at the lantern in the corner of the room as though to mentally confirm it's existence. While enchanting items had never been her strongest expertise, Hermione was proud of her accomplishments and confident that it would suffice for at least one use. Once activated the idea was simple enough: Transport its user far away from the UK, hopefully to Romania where Charlie's side of the resistance would be waiting to take them.

She nodded. "It's ready but not 100% stable. I didn't want to risk breaking it by testing it out beforehand."

"It will have to do. I heard through our network that the Death Eaters are trying to move all 30 of them next week."

"Do we know where they are keeping them now?"

"No Cho is still trying to track that piece of information down but it's not going well. She thinks our contact was compromised and is likely dead now," Charlie responded. "We need to get things going though, Hermione. Once the Death Eaters move them there is no telling where they will end up or if we will ever have another chance."

"Hmm, I might have a way we can find that out. Let me see what I can do and I will get back to you soon."

"Okay, Hermione. Be safe," Charlie said.

"You too," she responded before closing the compact mirror.

_Be safe. _The words meant so little now. There was nothing safe about their world anymore, Hermione thought. Merely existing as a Muggleborn was an act of rebellion and invitation for trouble. She knew the next steps she were to take were going to carry her deeper into the heart of danger. _But if this works it will all be worth it. _

Whether it had been several hours or only 30 minutes Fenrir was not entirely sure but at some point he must have dozed off because when he awoke it was to the sensation of cool fingers touching his wrist. Hermione was kneeling over his slouched body applying a potent ditany to the skin touching the silver chains. Although Fenrir quickly realized that she must have modified the cuffs while he was asleep as the metal was now covered in a cloth material. The alteration was a welcome reprieve from the constant pain of the toxic silver.

Fenrir ventured to guess this meant she wasn't going to kill him after all. Or at least not for the time being.

"Hold still," she said. Fenrir did as Hermione requested while her fingers moved to his neck, applying the salve to the burns there as well. She was close enough to him that he could breathe her scent and it made his cheeks flush from the mild intoxication With nothing better to do Fenrir appreciated the closeness of her to him from the way her short brown hair framed her face to the hint of freckles on her white skin. It would only take a few centimeters to close the distance between them, a detail that must not have been missed by Hermione either as her eyes flickered to his face.

"Don't get any ideas," she said as though reading his thoughts. There was no mistaking the darkening of her cheeks as well from their close proximity.

"If you say so…" He said with a cheeky grin Hermione would have found charming if it had been on anyone else.

Quickly changing the subject, Hermione stood away from him and ignored the rising heat on her face. "Enough. I have an offer to make but you need to decide right now."

"I'm listening," he said.

"Option one, I Obliviate you, you go along your wretched way and hopefully our paths never cross again."

"And option two?" He asked, brow raised.

"And option two is you commit a Blood Oath and swear to help me," she said. There was a flicker of surprise across Fenrir's face but it quickly disappeared behind an unreadable expression. "On your life you must promise you will not betray me," she said and they let the finality of her words settle in the pocket of silence between. Hermione expected him to question the perimeters of such a deal. Or at the very least clarify what his role would be.

Which was why she was caught off guard by his reply.

"I will do it, I will take that Oath," he responded.

"Just like that?"

"I told you I won't ignore my instincts again. I will keep you safe at whatever the cost," Fenrir said and the seriousness of his golden eyes made Hermione's heart thump harder in her chest. "But you must know that a Blood Oath isn't like an Unbreakable Vow..."

She nodded, "Yes, I know It's a mutual contract. In other words I would be under the same Oath to you as well. Listen, I would much rather use an Unbreakable Vow but we don't have a Bonder and I am not about to involve another person in this mess. If this doesn't work, I am only putting myself at risk. I'm willing to do this because there are many lives at stake and I think you can help."

"Then it's settled," he said. "I'm yours."

Hermione flushed. She didn't like his use of those particular words and the weight of intimacy they carried but she was not going to press him further on his choice. She needed his help and this was the only way she could ensure the werewolf would not sabotage her mission.

"I am going to need you to unbind at least one of my chains though," Fenrir said, nodding to the metal bound to his wrists. Hermione was hesitant but she realized he was right. Cautiously she lifted her wand and muttered a spell. There was a faint _pop_ and the chains fell away, clinking to the floorboards with a resounding thud.

He rose to his feet while Hermione took a step back into a slightly defensive stance as though she still expected him to attack. At his full stature, Fenrir towered over her. He didn't move towards but rather instead he raised one hand, palm forward to her and gave a nod to say he was ready to begin.

She retrieved her wand and placed it against his hand, softly casting the _diffindo spell_. The wand glowed and a cut sliced across his palm. Hermione watched the slow trickle of blood and felt slightly uncomfortable only to remind herself foolishly that she had inflicted much worse on him only a little while earlier. Quickly she recited the same spell to her own hand, a thread of crimson dripping down her hand.

She reached forward until her left hand was clasped with his. Hermione felt the roughness of his calloused skin against her own but what struck her was the warmth radiating from his palm. Even before she could cast the spell Hermione could sense the magic weaving in the space between them.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, are _you?" _He countered and she did not respond to his question.

With a subtle flick of her wrist she tapped her wand against their linked hands and began the spell. "By this Blood Oath cast upon us, will you swear to protect me Fenrir Greyback?"

"Yes, I swear it," he said in a low voice. At once an intricate white rope of light began to weave across their connected hands. "By this Blood Oath cast upon us, I will protect you, Hermione Granger. Do you swear to uphold this same Oath?"

Hermione did not hesitate although her hands had begun to tremble, whether from nerves or the sheer power of the magic unfolding she could not be certain. "I do."

At that the spell was sealed. The white light flashed brighter, it's glow filling the room as the rope linked together before dissipating. As the light faded Hermione nearly dropped her wand from fatigue. Remembering her company, Hermione did not want to betray this sudden weakness and she steeled her nerves and forced herself to at the very least holster it properly. But it was as though her limbs were made of lead and the gesture took immense effort.

"Are you alright?" Fenrir asked. Hermione realized she was still holding his hand.

She let go of him. "Yes, I'm fine."

She knew the ramifications of her decision and that she would have to explain herself eventually to Charlie and the other Order members. But if Fenrir could aid her it would all be worth it, Hermione told herself.

_It will all be worth it. _


	3. Chapter 3

**[Author's Note | Hi dear readers, if you are reading this then you probably know it's been awhile since I have updated much of anything. Apologies for that but such is life. I hope you enjoy this fic, I appreciate the encouragement along the way. ]**

Fenrir had left the loft without ceremony shortly after the spell was cast. He had vowed to return by nightfall with the information she had requested and Hermione was left alone with conflicted feelings. For a long while she stared at the front door the werewolf had exited from and half expected a swarm of Death Eaters to knock it down. How long would it take him to betray her location? Hermione gripped her wand and held her breath. It was only when the pounding in her head reminded her to exhale that she began to consider a new possibility: Fenrir wasn't going to betray her. Afterall, their fates were entwined now. To harm her would mean that he too would suffer… But what if he got in between her goals for the Order? What sacrifice would she need to make?

Hermione let herself ponder the ramifications of the blood oath briefly before pushing aside the burdensome thoughts. When she finally determined that there was likely no one materializing to whisk her away, Hermione set to work on the previous evening's incomplete work. After being caught by the Snatcher, Hermione had been unable to get the supplies to the other members. She knew that a disruption in the chain could be disastrous for their efforts but that first meant finding Cho.

Hermione had an idea of where to start. She went to her closet, removed her cloak, satchel and a small vial of polyjuice. The liquid sloshed against the glass and Hermione grimaced even before she tipped it back and felt the strange potion on her lips. Within moments her appearance had changed drastically and she fixed her gaze on the person in the bedroom mirror. Grey eyes and sagging skin, she was a woman in her late seventies with billowing white hair.

"Thank you for the identity, Margot," Hermione said softly almost in prayer for the reclusive elderly woman who had given her the gift of anonymity before her passing many years ago. It had been a force of habit to thank the woman as she took on the mantle of her guise. Hermione tucked the remaining polyjuice into a locket she had charmed for magical storage before Apparating with a blur of movement.

She reappeared with a pop, brushing the nonexistent lint from her cloak before Hermione surveyed her surroundings. The quaint park was nearly empty in the afternoon sunshine, whereas once it might have been full of giggling children with their parents sitting on benches beneath the willow trees.

"Pardon me," murmured someone behind Hermione. She jumped, curbing her instinct to reach for her wand. A young mother passed Hermione with a small infant in her pram, she made eye contact only briefly with Hermione and there was something haunted in the young woman's eyes.

A Half Blood? Hermione wondered as the woman hastened her step down the winding sidewalk. Surely not a Muggleborn; she never would have been caught outside in this age. But nor could the passing stranger have been a Pureblood, who's lineage would have made her nearly untouchable. A Half Blood of questionable lineage then, Hermione thought to herself. Under Voldemort's regime proving one's bloodlines was necessary step to survival. If you weren't part of the Sacred 28, the ancient Pureblood houses, this was sometimes a tricky challenge of making sure you had the proper documentation. Which was what made Hermione's task of delivering the supplies, to include forged documents, necessarily lifelines for those who needed to escape the UK's borders.

Hermione patted the satchel hung at her side before making slow, deliberate steps down the path. When she came upon a small pond Hermione pretended as though she needed to rest her old body on a nearby bench. She retrieved a bag of stale bread from her satchel, tossing the crumbs into the still water. Ducks paddled over, quacking indignantly for their share of the feast. From the corner of her eye she scanned her peripherals for any sign of other people.

But she saw no one. She was alone save but the gathering of ducks and one swan that slowly glided across the pond. The creature paused outside the circle of birds, staring back at Hermione with a steady gaze in it's ebony eyes. The swan fluttered its wings and few ducks parted until the elegant animal stood frozen on the pond's shoreline, as though waiting.

Hermione continued to toss bread crumbs to her feathered companions as she spoke in a low monotone:

"_Dragging it's long train, now a shroud, from it's early light in the East. _

_The sung goes to sleep under an arch."_

There was a fluid of motion as the air rippled. The swan opened her wings and the creature's body shifted instantly to that of a woman.

The Animagus sat down beside Hermione, her tone hush as she replied: "_Listen, Sorrow, beloved, to the soft approach of Night." _

"It is good to see you Cho," Hermione said. She couldn't see the witch's face as they both had their hoods drawn but she sensed the other woman's relief as she squeezed Hermione's hand in quick gesture of affection.

"I was worried when you didn't show up at the drop point," Cho said. "What happened?"  
"There was a complication but I have it under control now," Hermione responded. She thought that it wasn't entirely a lie if one considered making a Blood Oath with a werewolf that's sworn loyalty to evil incarnate. _Details, details__. _

"What aren't you telling me, Hermione?" Cho asked.  
"The less you know the better," she said, which was true. Hermione remained committed to the belief that the less people she involved with her plans with Fenrir the better. If anything was to go awry at least she could minimize the damage to those she cared about.

"Hermione…" Cho began to protest but the presence of Hermione pushing the velvet satchel into her hands was enough to stop her abruptly. 

"I mean it. Please trust me that everything is alright but I can't get into details. There isn't time," Hermione said. "Everything the Muggles will need is in there including the polyjuice but they are going to need to use it sparingly. I think one of our potionmasters was compromised and I don't know when I can get the next batch. Do you have any news on the Muggleborns the Death Eaters are transferring?"

"No," Cho said and Hermione could hear the threat of tears in the other woman's voice. "I think they got ahold of Hugo. His last message was...it wasn't good."

"I'm so sorry Cho," Hermione said and now it was her turn to grab the other witch's hand. Cho waved off the gesture of comfort instantly and Hermione understood why. Mourning others was not something they had the luxury to indulge in. Not when the stakes were so high and there was mission to see through. It was better not to even acknowledge the loss.

Which was why when Cho said "It's nothing," Hermione knew better than to say anything further on the topic. "But this does mean we are dead in the water trying to free them."

"Maybe not quite," Hermione said. "I will know more soon but I think I have someone who can get us information."

Elsewhere Fenrir Greyback made his way home and collapsed on the pallet he vaguely considered a bed. His limbs felt like lead and his head felt woozy from the night's affairs. A cocktail mixture of too much ale and the painful silver-poisoned injuries didn't help. Even with the help of the witch's healing ditany his skin was tender from where the silver had touched it. The magic's toxins would likely still be in his system for several long days.

_Still worth it, _he thought to himself. Sprawled on top of the blankets Fenrir couldn't bring himself to move but his mind drifted to the witch who had nearly killed him only just to decide to make a Blood Oath and seal their fates together. When he closed his eyes he could remember her scent and the touch of their hands as their magic intertwined. Even now if he stretched out his senses he could feel her magic like a whisper in his mind.

And strangely it soothed the wolf within him in a way Fenrir could not have predicted. When had he last felt such peace between his dual nature? Of course he knew the feeling was not mutual with the witch. He assessed the line between ally and foe was still very thin for Hermione and understandably so. Fenrir only hoped with time he could prove his sincerity to protect her at all costs, magical pact or not.

The werewolf wasn't sure of when exactly he must have fallen asleep only that when he awoke the light that streamed through his window was the artificial glow of a street lamp. He sat up with a groan and a litany of profanity that would make the most salty of sailors blush.

According to the decrepit clock clinging to the studio loft's wall the time was just a little past 7PM. An owl stared at him from the corner window, tapping impatiently on the glass with it's beak. Fenrir opened the window and the owl dropped the letter at his feet before fluttering to perch itself on the back of a broken kitchen chair.  
The owl hooed and Fenrir couldn't help but interpret the creature's wide yellow eyes as anything but an expression of disgust as it surveyed the bare interior of the werewolf's living space.

"Bite me Turkeyleg, it's called minimalism," Fenrir said to the owl as he opened the letter.

The bird gave another reproachful hoot.

The letter was addressed to him and dated earlier in the day. Fenrir recognized the handwriting to be from Amycus Carrow, one of the Death Eaters that worked with him on occasion: 

GREYBACK THERE HAS BEEN AN INCIDENT WITH YOUR SQUAD. REPORT TO THE MANSION IMMEDIATELY.

Considering that Fenrir had killed one of his own Snatchers just the night before Fenrir was sure he knew what the urgent matter pertained to. He was only surprised that they had not sent someone to his home to deliver the message in person.

_Because you broke the nose of the last sod who disturbed your sleep, _the werewolf said silently and shrugged. Although Fenrir gave Amycus no authority he did not want to keep the dark wizard waiting much longer in case they _did _decide to send out a search party so he quickly showered and changed into clean clothes before setting off to the mansion turned homebase of the Snatchers.

When he arrived the two wizards posted as sentry greeted him and moved out of his path. Fenrir paid no attention to them and as he stepped inside the mansion no one seemed to initially notice him. There was a commotion of urgent conversations among the Snatchers as the darkly dressed wizards and witches moved about the halls in hurried steps.

"Boss!" A voice called out.

Fenrir turned and saw Benjamin Wright running towards him. Benjamin was a freckle-faced wizard in his late 20's. In terms of company Fenrir found him tolerable on most days if only because despite his earnestness he was efficient.

"What is it, Wright?"  
"Master Carrow has been asking for you all day. There was -Wait, what happened to your neck?"

The wizard seemed to catch himself staring at the large scarring along Fenrir's neckline and immediately regretted the intrusive question. The menacing werewolf narrowed his eyes for a flash before smiling which may have scared the young wizard even more.

"Hooked up with a lass that has some interesting hobbies," Fenrir said and Wright gave a nervous chuckle. The wizard was thankful to dodge further conversation into the werewolf's escapades by an interruption.

"Oh good you decided to grace us with your presence, Greyback," drawled Carrow. The frail looking Death Eater greeted him from the staircase. Carrow wore a perpetually bored expression that Fenrir had come to associate with most of the Pureblood aristocrats. It was as though human emotion was simply beneath them.

"I had other matters to attend to," Fenrir said as he approached the wizard.  
"Yes, so I heard," Carrow retorted. "Follow me, we have a problem on our hands." 

Fenrir followed behind Carrow up the staircase and into a space that might have once been a study but had now been claimed as Carrow's personal office. The wizard closed the door behind them and seated himself in a leather armchair. He didn't offer Fenrir a seat but the werewolf didn't care. He preferred to stand anyways.

"Patrols this morning found one of your Snatchers dead in some alley," Carrow said.  
"Who was it?"  
"Carver," Carrow responded but the name didn't evoke any emotions in either of the men. "He was laying face down in the trash and it looks like he got the Avada."  
"Any leads on who or why might have done it?" Fenrir asked, he folded his arms and leaned against the library bookcase as though considering the wizard's words. Of course it had been him that had sent Carver to his maker but Fenrir had a part to play and he knew what questions he was meant to ask.

"No, and that is part of a bigger issue," Carrow said. "Some from Carver's squad made mention he had a bit of a drug problem and that's a very strong possibility."

"But you don't think this was a deal gone bad," Fenrir responded. Carrow nodded.

"My intuition tells me that this was the work of the Order. They are getting bolder by the day and I think their reach is expanding. Look at this," The dark wizard retrieved his wand and tapped it against the desk. A folder appeared and he handed it to Fenrir.

Fenrir opened the folder and peered at the paperwork. It was a report detailing the capture and interrogation of a spy found in the ministry: Hugo Clark. The accompanied picture was that of a battered man Fenrir presumed to be the unfortunate wizard. He scanned the document to glean the details of his crimes: Discovered to have been passing information on the Muggleborn trade for months. Fenrir's attention piqued at the mention of the Muggleborns, recalling Hermione's request that he got whatever information he could on the matter. The report was sparse with the details but he did make note that the Muggleborns would be moved to a new location immediately. The wizard must not have given up anything useful to the Snatchers, Fenrir surmised by the last line of the report:

HUGO CLARK EXECUTED AT 1430 HOURS BY KILLING CURSE.

"Up until recently we have presumed that the Order was pushed out of the UK, hiding like cockroaches in whatever backwoods country will have them but this is proof that they are here. Right underneath our noses," Carrow said.

"The Dark Lord knows all this?" Fenrir asked.

"Of course he does and he has tasked you and I to make sure we round up every last one of them. Double our patrols and start setting up surprise check points in each district. We will go to every bloody house in London if that's what it takes. The Dark Lord himself has ordered the Death Eaters to ensure nothing gets in the way of the upcoming trade deal."

"I will have my men on it then," Fenrir said as he placed the file down on a nearby table. Internally he was relieved that Carrow's attention was less on Carver's death and more on ensuring nothing disturbed the Death Eater's plans for the Muggleborns. Fenrir knew he needed to keep Hermione's name off Carrow's radar for as long as he could.

Hours after his conversation and the end of his patrols, Fenrir made sure he was not followed as he returned to the safe house. He Apparated inside the loft and Hermione nearly struck him with a curse. There was a flash of light and smoke spiraled from her wand as she lurched to her feet from where she had been sitting in an armchair.

She cursed loudly, using a few words even Fenrir hadn't heard before. "Impressive vocabulary, poppet," Fenrir said with amused appreciation as he stepped forward into the open space.

"You should have knocked. I could have been in my knickers!"  
"Well that would have made things more interesting," he responded with a cheeky grin. "Besides if I had used the front door there is a greater chance I could have been seen. We wouldn't want that now?"  
"No, we wouldn't," Hermione replied with an equally condescending tone.  
"Put the wand down would you? It's not like it will do you any good on me anyways," Fenrir said. He glanced at the small kitchen, remembering he had not eaten that day and made his way to rummage her refrigerator.

As though quickly piecing together why her curse had turned to smoke when she tried to use it on him, Hermione said plainly: "The Oath." 

"Precisely," Fenrir said. The contents of Hermione's fridge proved to be more disappointing than that of his own and eventually he settled on an apple from the countertop bowl instead.

"Please make yourself comfortable," Hermione said sarcastically although she lost some of her bravado as Fenrir stepped suddenly very close to her. Her heart began to race and Fenrir seemed to enjoy the response he elicited from the witch.

"Thank you, I will," he said and brushed past her to take her seat. Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring the flush of her cheeks as she sat down in the other chair Fenrir _could _have taken.

"Did you get the information?"  
"Some details, I will tell you what I know."


End file.
